With Eyes, Ears, Nose, and Hands Wide Open

For as much as I dislike public displays of affection, the groping couple certainly does not deserve lashings nor time in prison. Imagine that in certain countries it is illegal to own a pig and tank tops are the garb of whores. If you accidently ran over someone, you would pay a high fine but if you outright shot someone, you would be shot on the spot. I have read and heard of far off, severe places but now I'm told of those realities by people who call these places home.

Last week, at Value Village, I was with a friend from Welcome Home. As we perused the blazer section, one of the employees was conversing with a friend. All at once, the VV employee burst into tears and wailing. I had been eavesdropping but my friend with her level two English believed the woman had lost a loved one. In her country, a person only laments as such when there is a death. I slowly and simply tried to explain that the lady was crying over her drug-addict boyfriend who had recently dumped her and the hassle she was receiving from others for jumping into a rebound relationship with some other deadbeat. Welcome to Canada, land of the free but enslaved by sensationalism.

I spent the morning with this same friend enjoying the sweetness of Elmira's Maple Syrup Festival. It was her's and my first time. The traffic creeped and crawled into town and the main street was overloaded with people and smells. The thick smoke of sizzling pork and frying beef sent my vegetarian companion into fits of disgust. Despite her revulsion, she could not stop staring at the entire pig laid out on the grill and the cooks who pulled chunks of meat from it's corpse. She had never seen swine before and was even more amazed when we passed by a live sow with her ten piglets at "Old McDonald's Farm".

Every five minutes, she would let out a scream as other revellers would pass by with their dogs...on leashes...and many with muzzles. Nothing I could say would stop her from freaking out and digging her nails into my arm flesh. Her fear was mixed with fascination. If it was a small dog, she would kiss her fingers and nervously scratch the person's pet. As children walked by, she would touch them and speak with them as the parent's watched with slight suspicion. Two children sat with elaborate face paint in a wagon being pulled by their father. My friend, intrigued by their faces, leaned over, touched their cheeks, and tried to rub it off.

My friend's enthusiasm rubbed off on me, opening my eyes to the quirks and traits of both cultures. At one point, as we weaved our way down the sidewalk, my cousin's husband appeared. I had not seen him in years so I shook his hand. My friend grabbed my arm and immediately squirted hand sanitizer into my palm. This led to some awkward chit chat as I tried to divert attention from her act of hygenic concern even while the smell of alcohol wafted through the air. I'm not sure who to thank for that situation, her religion's emphasis on cleanliness or the Canadian obsession with killing bacteria. Either way, the days are full of adventure and my eyes are opened wider and wider to the severity and the levity of life in a multi-cultural world.